


A Court of Wolf and Steel

by General_Zargon



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Nesta's Issues, Post-ACOWAR, Stirring speeches, pre-Legion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Zargon/pseuds/General_Zargon
Summary: King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind encounters Nesta Archeron during a moment of peace. They have a much needed talk, and Nesta learns that there is no substitute for experience or a good long rant.





	A Court of Wolf and Steel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merinnan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merinnan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Court of Azeroth and Prythian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293959) by [Merinnan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merinnan/pseuds/Merinnan). 



> I blame Merinnan for this. It's because they're such a fantastic writer that I got inspired to write this. *Points* All on you! If I completely mangle the characters, the fault shall be laid squarely at your feet!

It was only because her sister had begged her that she was here, she told herself.

She needed a change of scenery, Elain said, pleading with her to come and visit Tarquin's court with her, and of course it was for her sweet sister that she agreed. It was only for her sister that she had left the Night Court to visit the Summer Court, it had nothing to do with getting away from the constant reminders of blood staining her hands, or the sharp 'crack' of her father's neck snapping, or seeing Feyre's happiness with High Lord Rhysand like  _nothing had happened_. Like their father hadn't been  _killed_. Nothing to do with fleeing from a certain persistent Illyrian who somehow always managed to draw forth emotion passed the barrier of numbness she'd formed around herself.

The excuses ring hollow in the emptiness of her mind, and she struggles to rouse the emotion needed to convince herself that it was the truth. She failed. She was always failing these days, Nesta thought. It seemed an unavoidable fact - she failed to save her father, to prevent Cassian from being hurt, to stop Elain from having to dirty her hands with the King of Hybern's filthy blood. She  _failed_. It's like a scream in her mind, slicing through the quiet like a blade through flesh, and the very thought makes bile rise in her throat and it's all she can do not to puke.

Walking in one of the many secluded gardens of Adriata, silence haunts her, clinging to her hair and skin and dogging her every footstep lie a second shadow. There is no Rita's here, no males looking for a quick tumble in bed to distract her and make her feel something that isn't tears or anger. She always feels worse afterwards, but during the act, she forgets, however briefly, the memory of her father's limp body sliding to the ground, Cassian's screams and his broken body as he drags himself towards her, Elain driving a knife into the king's throat. She refuses to think of Cassian in those times, those times when it seems like she blinks and months have passed and she's even thinner, more of a skeleton covered in skin than a woman. She always goes to Rita's after a blink. The males there aren't picky and she doesn't care what they think of her. Not that she cares about Cassian, she doesn't, but...but she doesn't know. He feels like safety and home and protection. Things she doesn't deserve. She just knows that whenever she thinks of that infuriating, idiotic, self-sacrificing, loyal, gorgeous warrior, her heart hurts like someone had reached their hand into her chest and is squeezing.

Most of the time, however, she feels nothing. Like a part of her was scooped out, leaving her an empty husk. Elain is worried about her, she knows, it was obvious in the way she had watched her the whole time at dinner, making sure she ate everything on her plate, but the knowledge was...muted, like a distant voice heard whispering through the walls around her heart. Walls that was battered and cracked and crumbling, but still standing as she tries to repair them with drink and nameless males. It never works, though she welcomes the numbness and disconnection that accompanies the attempts.

Dressed in a plain gray dress, she stands out like a pale specter in the midst of the colorful flowers around her as she walks and stares unseeing at the beauty around her.

Passing by a small pool, she paused, and for a moment didn't know why she had stopped until she registered the sight of someone standing in front of her. It was Varian, the human Varian from another world that Elain had mentioned, he couldn't be anyone else. He had his arms crossed and was frowning at her, the sword sheathed across his back adding to the oddity of the image.

"Nesta Archeron, right?" He spoke.

Just like that, she was herself again, and she drew herself up, lifting her chin proudly as she retorted sharply, "Who's asking?"

"Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind. Not to be confused with the fae Varian currently stuck in a meeting." He replied glibly, blatantly ignoring her less-than-polite tone, "Glad to know I was right. Feyre described you somewhat and I thought you looked familiar, but I wasn't sure."

"So? Why should I care?" She asked coldly. Something about this man reminded her uncomfortably of Cassian, the strength that said he would protect his family and people with everything he had and then some. She wanted to run away, but refused to retreat.

"I heard from Cresseida that you and your sister Elain were visiting. As a fellow guest in this place, I figured I would say hello and see if you were alright." He said, sharp eyes suddenly locking on her own and giving his words an unexpected gravitas. It was like each word was an arrow aimed at her weak points, and he was saying more than what he voiced.

"I'm fine!" She replied, slightly louder than necessary as though she was trying to deny the unspoken accusation. "Everything is fine!" she choked out, her voice cracking, talking to herself more than the human king. His face looked like it had been sculpted from marble, not judging or pitying, only patient. Somehow that was worse. All the air in her lungs deserted her, and for a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think of anything other than  _getting away_. Without her conscious command, her body turned, her legs tense in anticipation of running, but before she could follow through, a hand like a steel shackle wrapped around her upper arm and held her in place. She would have more luck moving a mountain than she would escaping that grip, she instinctively knew. That didn't mean she didn't try, hissing and snarling like a wild-cat as she swung her uncaught hand at the male's face, only to be unable to reach as he leaned his head back just enough that she was left clawing uselessly at the air.

A tug on her arm, and she fought all the harder, her desperation increasing when the human Varian paid no more attention to her struggles than he would a leaf striking him over the head. She was just about to abandon pride entirely and scream for help when, unexpectedly, the grip on her arm disappeared. Before the knowledge of her newfound-freedom could take root, a gentle push sent her falling backwards. She braced herself, only she didn't hit the ground. Instead, she landed on something soft and springy...a couch, she realized, feeling the soft fabric of the cushions beneath her hands. A blink, and she could see again, the surprise snapping her out of her panic.

She gasped for breath, air rushing back to fill her burning lungs, the sound of blood rushing through her ears receding. Deep breaths, in and out,  one after the other as her pounding heartbeat gradually slowed. She was trembling in shock, but slowly calming, the shaking subsiding as she took in her new surroundings. Some kind of sitting room, she saw. It was small but somehow cozy, most of the space being taken up by the low table in the center of the room and the two couches on either side of it. Probably only meant for two or three people at a time, and decorated in light, gentle colors.

Before she knew it, her panic began fading into the background and finally vanished entirely as she became engrossed in looking around. Eyes skimming over the lone bookshelf in the room, dropping to examine the beautifully woven rug, then lifting to admire the paintings that adorned the walls. They were well done, but privately, in the very back of her mind, she thought that Feyre's work was better. The peaceful surroundings slowly drained tension from her body that she hadn't even realized was there. It was like seeing in color after years of nothing but gray; shocking, yet relieving enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Nesta saw the gentle colors of the room, felt the softness of the couch beneath her, heard the quiet chirping of birds outside, and smelled the gentle fragrance of the gardens flowers. The silence and numbness was nowhere to be found. A soft clink drew her attention to the table where Varian was setting down two mugs of tea, one for him and one for her. It made for an odd picture; a warrior-king handling fine china with all the delicacy of a noble lady and the seriousness usually reserved for life-and-death battles. Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile, and she ducked her head to hide the expression as she reached for the tea.

Steam drifted above the cup as she wrapped her hands around it, the warmth soaking through her skin all the way to her bones. She took an experimental sniff, finding the scent a unique blend of oranges and mint, the smells somehow combining into something pleasant and calming. She relaxed even further as she took a cautious sip, pausing at the taste before taking another, longer drink. The taste was surprisingly good.

"Better now?" Varian asked, raising one eyebrow in question as he settled back into the couch behind him.

"...Yes." Nesta admitted, and then grudgingly added, "Thank you."

It was difficult to admit, even to herself, but she knew she had likely resembled a madwoman as she panicked, fighting and clawing against the one helping her. A horrifying thought occurred to her - what if someone had seen her? The garden might have been secluded, but that didn't mean it never received visitors. That was only the third time she had been consumed by hysteria like that, but when she had come back to herself after the other times she had always looked a frightful sight. Like a mad demon-woman, her clothes torn and her hair a wild, tangled mess, sometimes with claw marks only just beginning to heal on her body. She was lucky it was the human Varian who ran into her and not one of the Summer fae who would run right to her sisters to inform them of her breakdown. She didn't want nor need any more pity, she thought, scowling angrily at her tea.

Across from her, Varian blew lightly on his own tea, taking a slow sip before lowering the cup and staring calmly at her, steel-colored eyes intent. That sharp gaze, like a gleaming sword poised to strike, made her distinctly uneasy. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. She was mesmerized, like a rabbit in front of a wolf, unable to move and knowing the end could come at any moment.

She didn't have to wait long for that sword to fall. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Blunt and to the point. Nesta would usually respect that, but now she wished that Varian behaved like a normal aristocrat and danced around the subject to give her time to think up a better response than, "No." Equally as direct, but obviously defensive.

Varian's slow sip of tea said volumes about his disbelief at her answer. Though not saying anything for several moments, he spoke eloquently with silence. Perhaps it was some kingly trait? Feyre's mate Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, was also rather good at it. She took a drink of her own, just to have something to do, the blend of flavors easing the knot of panic around her heart before it could do more than begin to form. Still, her fingers tightened around the handle of her mug.

"What is there to talk about?" Emerged from her lips before she could stop it, and then it was like a dam burst. All the words and pain she had been holding deep inside came pouring out. "What do you want to hear? That I keep replaying the moment that bastard snapped my father's neck? That every time I close my eyes I still see it happening? That I can barely stand to hear a hearth fire crackling? That I feel like my heart is being torn from my chest when I remember Cassian dragging his beaten body towards me? That I still feel the blood on my hands as I tore my father's murderer's head from his shoulders? That I want to scream and weep because my sisters _don't care that our father is dead_?!" Her final words coming out in a venomous hiss, the truth dripping from her lips like poison from a viper's fangs.

Clenching her fists, she glared down at the human king, realizing that at some point during her tirade she had stood up. Her chest was heaving as she panted, out of breath yet somehow relieved, like an infected wound had been lanced and the poison in her heart drained. Because, she realized, denying her feelings and hiding from them inside the silence of apathy _was_ a poison. An insidious one that crept through her soul and rotted it from the inside out the longer her emotions were left to fester.

She had kept those thoughts behind her teeth, refusing to give voice to her feelings, how she felt about Elain and Feyre so easily moving on with their lives right after their father died. Died coming to save them, at last showing that he loved them. The anger had boiled inside her, becoming corrosive, and because she had refused to lash out at her sisters, she had instead turned that anger on herself. Her body. Nameless males, potent liquor, skipping meals...all of it used as a method of punishment for an elusive transgression.

The damage neglect had done to her body was substantial, she knew, but that knowledge hadn't really sunk in until now, when she remembered the sallow, sunken features that had greeted her the last time she looked in the mirror. She likely looked worse now; her clothes had been getting looser since then, and when she looked at her arms when dressing, they were bony and sharp, like sticks covered in thin flesh. She probably looked horrifying, she grimaced.

Silence reigned, and then Varian's calm voice, "Better now?"

It was the very same question he asked when she'd come back from her panic to find herself on the couch. Her answer was also the same, but this time she meant it. "Yes, thank you."

Nesta sat back down, reaching for her tea and relishing the cool feel of it sliding down her throat, which was rather dry and somewhat sore. Apparently she'd been shouting, or at least it felt like it.

* * *

Three cups of tea later, and Varian spoke again, startling Nesta. "I know what it's like, you know. To lose something. To wonder, how can everyone else go on like everything is normal when the world is crashing down around you. It happened more times than I care to recall: when I was a boy it was my father and my nation, when I was a man it was my wife." Sadness darkened his eyes, which were staring pensively down into the last dregs of his drink. Standing, he went to where he'd left the kettle, pouring himself another cup as he continued to talk, "I've worn the same mask of anger that you do, baring my teeth in fury, snarling and snapping like a wounded animal to keep others from realizing how deeply hurt I actually was. That mask cost me many things, the greatest of them something simple yet irreplaceable: Time."

She had finally started to relax into the companionable silence after her outburst, but now she tensed, listening quietly to the words that resonated with her own thoughts. "Time?" She asked, her voice nearly lost in the sound of tea being poured, it was so small. Varian still heard her.

"Time." He agreed, coming back and reclaiming his seat across from her. "Time that I could have spent watching my son grow was instead spent dwelling in grief and anger. Precious moments that I will never get back were lost by being blinded with rage. By the time I looked around and saw how thoroughly I had pushed others away, it was too late. I was more of a stranger than a father to my son, and it took both of us nearly dying and my kingdom almost being destroyed before I realized it. Even then, time had moved on while I lingered on the past, and I had no idea how I could fit into the present. My son had other teachers, one of whom was more of a father to him than I was. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was left floundering, trying to find a way inside this circle that I had intentionally removed myself from." A small drink, and a final, heartfelt plea, "Don't let that happen to you, Nesta. Don't set yourself so far apart that you can't find your way back. It may feel like you are sitting on sand, the grains shifting beneath you each time you try to get up and causing you to slip and fall back down, but keep trying. You can stand back up."

She was not nearly so ignorant that she would take the king's story lightly, nor the counsel. Hands fisted in her skirt, and numbs lips parted to whisper, independent of her will, "How? How can I? I've already pushed my sisters so far away, acting as I did...What if the walls I try and grab hold of crumble beneath my fingers?"

Varian smiled, and somehow the small glimpse of teeth was reassuring instead of frightening. "That's when you accept the help being offered. Plenty of people have stretched out their hands to help you back to your feet; you just need to grasp them."

Elain and Feyre, Nesta realized. If she reached out to them for help, they would give as much as they could. Rhysand, Mor, Amren, some others...maybe even Cassian, her heart dared to suggest.

"You had your eyes closed while you fumbled about in the sand, unable to see those standing around you, their hands outstretched," Varian leaned forward, and unconsciously Nesta copied the motion, leaning towards him as he whispered, as though sharing some great and profound secret..." _Now you need to open your eyes._ "

And it was like she did. Suddenly, her memories were cast in a new light. What she'd taken to be pity was in fact concern, empathy. What she thought were mocking words were actually attempts to offer comfort. The many times Cassian spoke to her, checked on her, took on whole new meanings, and she was ashamed. Ashamed of how she'd acted.

"Is it too late?" She heard her voice say, and was only moderately surprised that she had asked the question ringing through her mind out loud.

"It's hardly ever too late, especially with friends and family like yours." Her companion replied, those blue-steel eyes smiling at her over the rim of his cup. She smiled back, the expression stiff and unpracticed, but she would get better. She knew she would.

"Did you ever manage to get back inside your circle?" And she truly wanted to know, she thought in surprise. If he could do it, then so could she.

"Yes, I did. It was far from easy, and I made more than a few mistakes, but thankfully my son is the forgiving sort. Sometimes too forgiving," Varian muttered, frowning and quaffing the remainder of his tea like it was a mug of ale. Nesta laughed, the sound rough and surprised, and Varian discreetly smirked. Mission accomplished. "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling rather hungry. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?"

She paused, thinking, and it was only then that she became aware of the vicious cramping in her stomach and the low growls coming from her belly. "You know what, I think I do." She said, amazed. Her unpracticed smile put in another appearance, "A late lunch sounds lovely."

They both stood, Varian holding out his arm as the two of them came around the table and Nesta tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they set off to find the kitchens. Her smile came easier this time.

* * *

That night at dinner, Feyre Archeron could scarcely believe her eyes as she watched Nesta enter the dining room, arm-in-arm with the human Varian and laughing like Feyre had never seen her. Her older sister was practically glowing, head thrown back in mirth and her hair freed from its usual crown of braids to fall loosely around her.

She wasn't the only one who'd stopped and stared, she saw. All conversation had ceased as more than one person looked incredulously at the pair. Cassian's eyes were practically burning, she saw, a well of concern for her friend rising in her. As they watched, Nesta withdrew her arm and placed her hands on her hips, raising her chin, and Varian crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Challenge accepted, Feyre translated the exchange of looks. In disbelief, she watched as the human king made his way over to the silent form of Cassian, the glass in the General's hand threatening to shatter with how tightly he was gripping it.

And then Varian did something completely unexpected. With no warning whatsoever, the king reared back and punched the Illyrian commander in the face, spinning and walking back to Nesta before Cassian had finished stumbling from the blow.

"There. Now you have an excuse." They all heard Varian of Stormwind declare before he went to the buffet as though he hadn't just punched Cassian hard enough to make him stagger.

Nesta huffed and growled, sounding more like herself than she had in...in...Feyre realized with a start that she couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Nesta sound like that. Surely she must have at least once in the last few years? "Fine, I'll see what I can do." Nesta snapped, harrumphing like she was being saddled with some great chore as she turned on her heel and marched over...to Rhysand? What was going on?

Curious, Feyre drifted over to stand at her mate's side, her Starfall gown flowing and glittering around her.

Rhysand raised his eyebrows, his own star-kissed eyes glowing with curiosity as he looked at the eldest Archeron sister. "Is something the matter?" He asked, his bemused smile not reaching his eyes. Feyre slipped a hand into the one of his not holding a drink, squeezing reassuringly.

Nesta _rolled her eyes_. Feyre was flabbergasted. Her sister met Rhys' gaze unflinchingly, saying bluntly, "I lost a bet, so now I have to convince you to give Varian over there," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at where the human Varian was approaching with two plates full of food, "a vacation home in Velaris. I made the mistake of mentioning that if you did give him a house there, everyone would just think it belonged to the fae Varian."

"I see." Rhys clearly didn't; she felt his confusion and sent him a small wave of humor, because honestly, this _was_ pretty funny.

Now that she thought about it, that would be an easy mistake to make, since both Varian's had the same name..."What bet involved the king punching Cassian?" She couldn't resist asking, trying to ignore all the unsubtle eavesdroppers around her.

Her older sister blinked at her. "Oh, that wasn't the bet."

Everyone blinked. What?


End file.
